Once Craved (a Riley Paige Mystery--Book #3)

by Blake Pierce

“Not much. And I’m proud of it. You ought to be grateful, you whiny little bitch.”

  By now Riley had had enough. She’d put up with this kind of abuse all her life. She’d never fought back. All she’d ever done was walk away. The time for walking away was over.

  She stood facing him, too close for either of their comfort.

  “Do you have any mirrors here, Daddy? I’ll bet you don’t. You wouldn’t like what you saw.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “A coward. A sick, frightened little man who never had the guts to love. A man who bullied little children instead of men his own size.”

  His eyes twisted with fury. He raised his open hand and swung it hard at her face. She deftly deflected the blow with her wrist.

  “Go ahead, try to hit me,” she said back, defiant. “You can’t anymore. I’m stronger than you now, Daddy. You can’t touch me ever again.”

  With a roar of rage, he reared back, then launched a punch at her face. Riley reached up and caught his fist with her hand, holding it in her own viselike grip. She took a step toward him.

  She snarled, “Try that again, and I swear to God, I’ll kill you where you stand.”

  Now his mouth curled into a malicious grin. Riley felt an icy chill. He was loving this. Her hatred was what he lived for. It was all that he had left to call his own.

  But she refused to become like him. She wasn’t going to waste her hatred on him.

  She loosed her grip on his fist and shoved it away. She looked him squarely in the eye.

  She said again, “I don’t hate you, Daddy. I refuse to hate you, no matter how hard you try.”

  He looked wounded now. He hadn’t looked wounded when she’d said that before. What had changed?

  He believes me this time, she thought.

  After all, it was the most hurtful thing she could possibly say to him. She’d taken away his most treasured possession in the world.

  Riley turned and walked away. Just as she opened the door to leave, she heard him yell one more thing.

  “Never trust a man whose kids don’t hate him.”

  Even for her father, it seemed to her like a cynical thing to say. But she wouldn’t respond to it. She stepped outside and shut the door behind her. She didn’t bother to open her umbrella. The rain felt good. She just stood there on the front stoop and let it pour all over her.

  The visit had turned sour, just like she’d expected. Still, it had served its purpose. She remembered what Mike Nevins had said to her.

  “I’m not sure you can get through this without some kind of emotional catharsis.”

  Her father had given her that catharsis. And now she even had rain to complete the cleansing.

  No doubt about it, her father was sick. But if he wasn’t going to reach out for help, or even admit he was sick, there wasn’t anything for Riley or anybody else to do. She didn’t have to see him ever again. And she sure as hell didn’t plan to.

  She felt like herself now. And for the first time since she’d started working on this case, she felt the palpable presence of the killer. And he wasn’t the least bit like her.

  He’s lived a successful life, she realized.

  Unlike her, the killer had done everything that he was supposed to do, and he’d never felt any contradiction about it. As far as he was concerned, killing whores was just a way to let off steam, like playing golf or bridge. There was nothing wrong with it. There was nothing wrong with him.

  It was all falling into place now. He was a killer, nothing more. But Riley was a hunter. She knew what she was doing in life, he didn’t. He was her unsuspecting prey. And she was going to take him down.

  She got into her car and started to drive. As she made her way down the rain-drenched mountain, she remembered something else Mike Nevins had said to her …

  “There’s not always a single right thing to do.”

  She smiled. She was at peace with that now.

  Chapter Thirty One

  As the john opened the motel door for her, Socorro wondered why she was feeling nervous about him. T.R. had a lot of class.

  But maybe that’s what’s weird, she thought as she walked into the room. What kind of classy john would pick up a streetwalker? Wasn’t he more of the escort or call girl type?

  When he had picked her up, she’d actually thought he would want her services right there in the car like some johns did. Instead he had driven her all the way outside of Phoenix, saying he wanted to find some peace and quiet. He’d brought her to this motel near a small town, renting a room in the back part of the building. From what she had seen there was nothing behind the place but desert.

  She wasn’t completely comfortable with the set-up. For one thing, she wouldn’t be able to catch a bus home like she usually did in the city. She’d have to wait for him to drive her back into town.

  She’d get home later than usual. But her daughter, Mari, was old enough to take care of her two younger brothers. Mari could fix them dinner, but she’d have very little to work with tonight. Socorro had planned to stop on the way home and pick up fast food burgers for all of them. And fries. And something sweet too, maybe milkshakes.

  Most johns didn’t seem to pick up on the fact that she was a mother. Of course, she worked hard not to act like one. Out on the streets, she always played the feisty stereotypical spitfire of a Latina chola. The men she went with wouldn’t even recognize the mother she was at home.

  Meanwhile, it was a decent motel, and T.R. was being very nice. He’d brought a bottle of scotch with him, and he was pouring two glasses. He handed one to her.

  “Water or ice?” he asked. “Or anything to mix it with?”

  “I’m good,” Socorro said with a smile. It was rare enough for a john to treat her to a drink. She wasn’t going to get picky about it. She took a sip. It tasted expensive.

  “Take off your blouse,” he said.

  Socorro was happy to follow orders. She pulled off the blouse and leaned back on the bed. She had nothing on underneath, but she had no problem with going half-naked, or fully naked. She would do whatever the johns wanted as far as clothing was concerned, and most activities too.

  “Anything else?” she asked.

  “Not right now.”

  So she would wait until he told her to take off her short skirt, fishnet tights, and spiked heels. Or maybe he would want to do that for her. Socorro told herself that she was only feeling wary because he was smoother and slower than her usual clients. He wasn’t in a hurry like so many of them were.

  He sat down beside her on the bed and began to stroke her body. He ran his fingers across her breasts and then up her legs, feeling her beneath her skirt.

  But something seemed off. He was breathing rather loudly—but it wasn’t the kind of breathing she expected with arousal.

  He’s having trouble getting it up, she realized.

  But she could take care of that. Sometimes the johns couldn’t perform well, but Socorro could usually make them happy one way or another. She might have to really work at it, but T.R. was worth some effort.

  After all, she was spooked about nothing. Those news stories had gotten her all worked up—all that stuff about some serial killer taking prostitutes. Not that there had been a lot of details. Socorro figured maybe it was just hype during a dull news week. But it was messing up life on the street. More cops were out there than usual, scaring both johns and working girls away.

  But Socorro didn’t have the luxury of staying off the street. She needed money, and she needed it today. She had kids to feed and rent to pay. And although none of regulars had showed up, she’d gotten lucky with T.R.

  She’d seen him before in that big expensive car of his. She’d even tried to talk to him once, but he’d driven away when her stupid pimp barged in.

  ¡Pinche Pablo! she thought.

  Anyway, T.R. had to be all right. It was not like he was hiding from the law or anything like that.

  After a few moments of idle fondling,
he got up from the bed.

  “I’ve brought you a gift,” he said.

  Socorro was surprised. Who ever bought gifts for streetwalkers like her?

  He took a little flat box out of his pocket and held it out to her.

  Socorro gasped when she opened it. Inside was a lovely little necklace.

  “This is for me?” she cried.

  “Especially for you,” he said. “I picked it out with you in mind. The diamond is real.”

  She smiled with delight. She knew he was lying, of course. He hadn’t had her especially in mind. How was that even possible? He’d have given the necklace to any whore who’d gone with him. But she wasn’t complaining.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she said.

  He smiled back at her. “How about muchísimas gracias?”

  She laughed aloud. “Muchísimas gracias—and then some!”

  He glanced around the room. “Put it on,” he said. “I’ve got some toys out in the car. I’ll be right back.”

  As soon as he went out the door, Socorro got up and put on the necklace, checking it out in the mirror. It was a slender silver chain with one nice simple stone. She thought she looked rather glamorous, naked to the waist except for the necklace.

  She sighed. She deserved this and much more. She often thought that she should try for a better class of work, like an escort service. Then she could get away from pinche Pablo. Working with a madam instead of a pimp would be a welcome change.

  Meanwhile, she wasn’t going to get all sentimental about this expensive trinket. She was nothing to T.R., and he was nothing to her. She’d sell the necklace as soon as she got a chance. She could buy groceries, maybe even take a week off.

  Or maybe not, she thought.

  If she was going to move up in the world, shouldn’t she keep it? A call girl or an escort needed her jewelry. Maybe this was a start in that direction.

  But as she looked at herself in the mirror, something vague started to trouble her. It had something to do with a necklace and nakedness …

  Then she remembered. It had been on TV—a necklace a lot like this one. A dead woman had been found in some lake outside of town, naked and wearing just such a necklace.

  The woman had been one of the killer’s victims.

  Panic overwhelmed Socorro. She couldn’t meet the same fate. She had a life to live. She had kids to feed and take care of. What would become of them if she never came home?

  But maybe she was wrong. Maybe she was scared about nothing. Maybe everything was going to be all right.

  She opened the front door slowly, just a little, hoping he wouldn’t notice. It was dark outside, and the light above the door was out. The parking lot wasn’t well lit. Even so, she could see him by the trunk light of his car, not more than fifteen feet away. His back was toward her and he was searching for something. In one hand he held a coil of rope.

  Her heart was pounding now. Should she scream? Would anybody hear her? Nobody else was in sight. There weren’t even many cars parked out back. The motel seemed to be mostly vacant.

  There was only one thing to do. She kicked off her spiked heels, pushed the door wide open, and ran. She heard the man cursing as she rushed past him.

  Socorro had no idea where to run, so she just went where her feet carried her. In moments, the parking lot pavement gave way to gravel and then to rocky dirt. Darkness closed in on all sides as she mindlessly ran on and on. Her feet hurt badly from the rough, stony sand and desert weeds. Her legs and her naked torso were whipped by low brambly plants. But her feet kept carrying her on and on.

  Soon she had no idea how far she’d run. She was in shock from pain, bleeding, and fear. How much time had passed since she fled that motel room? Just a few minutes? An hour?

  She felt like her heart would explode and her lungs would burst. She stumbled to a halt and fell to her knees, momentarily deafened by her own gasping and the pounding of her pulse.

  But as her breathing slowed, she heard another sound. It was distant traffic. She looked around and saw headlights moving along some distance away.

  ¡Tonta! she thought.

  In her panic, she had angled toward the desert instead of toward the highway. She turned around. The lights of the motel were far behind her. She saw no one between her and the motel. Hadn’t he followed her?

  She hurt all over and couldn’t run another step. It was chilly now, and she was almost naked, and she was shivering from both the cold and fear.

  But she had to keep moving. She limped painfully toward the highway.

  As she neared the road, an approaching car slowed down. It was a big, fancy car—T.R.’s car, she was sure of it. The car pulled beside her and came to a stop.

  The passenger door opened. She could see T.R. driving.

  “What’s the matter with you?” he called out. He was holding her blouse in one hand. “You forgot this. Get in, put it on. I’ll drive you home.”

  But there was no way she was getting into the car with him. She ran past the car out onto the highway. Big headlights were bearing down on her. It looked like a truck. She hoped it was a truck.

  Socorro ran toward the lights, waving her arms. For the first time since she’d started running, she screamed.

  Chapter Thirty Two

  At seven a.m. Riley walked into the office of Special Agent in Charge Elgin Morley. Bill was already there, and Morley was sitting behind his desk.

  Bill smiled at her. Morley scowled.

  Well, the feeling sure is mutual, Riley thought, taking a seat.

  This whole situation seemed like a dream. Her life had taken a mad whirl after she visited her father yesterday. As soon as she’d gotten home, she’d called Brent Meredith in Quantico to tell him she wanted to get back to work. He’d said he’d work things out with Morley and get back to her the next day.

  Instead, she’d been awakened by a phone call at 3:00 this morning. It had been Morley. He’d gruffly told her that she was needed in Phoenix right away. A BAU car had picked her up at home and driven her to Quantico, where an FBI jet was waiting to take her back to Phoenix.

  And now here she was, feeling exhausted and disoriented. At the same time, she was glad to be back on the job. And she was grateful that Gabriela and April had everything under control at home. They’d more than understood that she needed to get back to work.

  Morley’s gaze was anything but friendly. Riley reminded herself that he’d had perfectly sound professional reasons to take her off the case. Still, she couldn’t help but be pissed off about it.

  Without so much as a word of greeting, Morley started right in his explanations.

  “We’ve had a new development. Maybe even a break in the case. Bill already knows the details, but I’ll fill you in too, Agent Paige.”

  He looked over notes that he’d written down.

  “Late last night, a trucker couple picked up a woman near the town of Luning. She was half naked, cut up, and hysterical. They didn’t know what was wrong with her, except that she seemed to be running away from somebody. They took her to the Luning cops, who noticed that she was wearing an expensive necklace. That led them to think it might have something to do with our case. So they brought her here, along with the trucker couple.”

  “Are they still here?” Riley asked. “I mean the couple and the woman?”

  “They’re all here,” Morley said. “The couple, Hannah and Troy Coddington, are in the interview room right now. We’ve identified the woman as Socorro Barrera. She’s in the clinic, still in shock and pretty much incoherent.”

  Riley mulled over the situation. She wanted to talk with the woman. But was that even possible? Perhaps, but she needed more information first.

  “Bill and I will talk to the couple,” she said.

  “Let’s go, then,” Morley said.

  The three of them left the office and headed toward the interview room. Riley and Bill went into the room, and Morley entered the adjacent room. Riley knew that he’d be watching
and listening. That was fine with her.

  Hannah and Troy Coddington were sitting at the table. They were both rugged, heavy-set, and clad in overalls. Riley wasn’t sure which of them was the more heavily tattooed.

  As Bill and Riley introduced themselves, Riley noticed that the Coddingtons looked worried.

  “Should we get in touch with a lawyer?” Troy asked.

  Hannah added, “We ain’t got a regular lawyer, but maybe you can fix us up with one.”

  Riley was a bit surprised by the question.

  “Why?” she asked.

  Hannah said, “Well, me and Troy know it don’t look good, us picking up a half-naked woman on the highway, and probably a hooker at that. But we ain’t traffickers, we swear to God. We hate those bastards. We really do. We were just trying to help this poor girl.”

  Riley and Bill smiled at each other.

  “We understand,” Bill said. “We’re not holding you as suspects. We’re not holding you at all. But we’d appreciate any help you can give us.”

  “Could you tell us exactly what happened?” Riley asked.

  Hannah began, “Well, it was getting close to midnight. We’d just dropped off a shipment in Luning and were planning to stay in a motel that night.”

  “The Nopal Inn,” Troy said. “Right near Luning.”

  Hannah continued. “Troy was driving, and suddenly we saw her in the road up ahead. First she looked like a ghost in the glare of the headlights, but she wasn’t no ghost. She was naked from the waist up, and she wasn’t wearing shoes. I yelled for Troy to stop.”

  Troy shuddered at the memory.

  “Scared me half to death,” he said. “I braked and swerved, almost jackknifed the truck, could have killed us all. It’s a miracle I didn’t.”

  Hannah also shuddered and shook her head. She said, “She came running up to my side of the truck, yelling mostly in Mexican. We couldn’t understand much of it, except somebody was after her and she wanted us to save her.”

  “We didn’t stop to ask a lot of questions,” Troy said. “Hannah got her up into the truck, and I drove us on out of there.”